Page 42 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

Oh no.

I look across the dance floor with alarm. Thankfully, Matteo seems to have disappeared. I’ve noticed him talking to lots ofpeople throughout my set, meeting and greeting. He has a very firm handshake, it appears. I’m relieved he’s not here to witness what I’m about to do. After seven years of singing basically the same songs over and over, this one is only ever reserved for the last song at a wedding, not on a yacht full of promiscuous, fun-loving twenty-somethings. They are going to hate it. It’s going to ruin the vibe completely.

Who should I tell?I cast about anxiously for the manager, but I can barely remember what he looks like.

‘This last song is for,’ I say, lowering my voice, ‘all you lovers out there.’

Trust bloody Nancy to sneak this in. It’s like she’s done it on purpose. I have no option but to start singing ‘The Power of Love’.

I’m singing about a body and holding on to it and doing all I can to bring it pleasure. How embarrassing. Name a single lustful woman on the planet who could sing this song and not think about their Mr Window Seat. Soon, thoughts of that delicious kiss flood my mind as I close my eyes and belt out the tune.

When I eventually open them, I see Matteo edge closer through the crowd, watching me. The way he fixes me with his dark look ignites a feeling of something new. It is spreading through me as I stare back, entranced. I feel the thump of my heart drumming against my chest in time to the music. Without breaking eye contact, I carry on singing. Suddenly, the song takes on new significance, my voice sounds thick with emotion, and I feel my lungs ready to explode as I proclaim rather loudly that I am his LAY-DEEEE and he is my MA-AAAA-AAAAN.

I feel my face go beetroot red as I sing. I wish I could rip my gaze from his, but like a driver with their eyes glued to a pile-up on the opposite side of the road, I just can’t. Couples are smooching on the dance floor between us. The tempo is suitablychilled, lots of people are lounging around, swaying in time. Somehow, I’ve managed to create a sexy, romantic sort of vibe. It’s like a penny dropping. This is how I used to be. Before I became covered in cobwebs and dust.

I focus my attention back on the crowd and sing about heading for something, somewhere I’ve never been, until the music fades and I’m clapped off stage. The DJ has followed my lead, and the mood of the club has come down a notch to give people a rest before he builds it back up.

I make my way down the steps at the side of the stage and am walking shyly over to Matteo when Nacho swoops in out of nowhere, like a bird of prey, snatches me by the waist and swirls me onto the dance floor as though he’s a professional flamenco dancer about to administer an advanced masterclass.

‘Much better singing, Cenicienta,’ Nacho says, giving me a flirty wink. ‘Much, much better. Very hot.’ He stretches his hand out towards me and pulls me into him before thrusting me out again. ‘Now I give you dance lesson you never forget.’

He picks up my hand and places it on his shoulder, and we do a sort of awkward two-step back and two-step forth, as Nacho raises himself onto his tiptoes, thrusts out his elbows and bores holes into me with a stern but simmering gaze.

‘I am bull,’ he says, landing a heavy hand on my shoulder. ‘You are matador.’

Maybe the dance is sexier than it sounds, but I’ve never been one for animal cruelty. The next few minutes drag by while there’s all manner of facial expressions going on and a lot of unexplained eye contact and touching. I try to look over to Matteo, but each time, Nacho puts a finger to my cheek to bring me back to face him.

‘Feel the music,’ he insists, beating his breast. ‘Feel it.’

He twirls me dizzyingly about, not breaking eye contact while I stiffly try to follow his lead. He very much reminds meof Cherry. Very intense and stressy. The two seem cut from the same cloth. He’s all fluid movements while I jerkily sashay about, embarrassed to my core that Matteo is witnessing this clumsy display. The whole thing feels wrong, like a long and intimate sexual encounter with a hot neighbour while your husband watches on disapprovingly.

Thankfully the song ends and just as Nacho leans in to whisper something in my ear, Matteo cuts in to sweep me away, laughingly saying something in Spanish to Nacho that I don’t catch. I give Nacho a shy wave as he shrugs, pretending to be heartbroken.

‘Thanks,’ I say, sagging against him, relieved. ‘Latino dancing can be very taxing, can’t it?’

Matteo is staring down at me with a serious expression as he pulls me gently into his arms. ‘Then let me show you how to do it properly,’ he says.

Oh my.My stomach flutters.

His dark eyes hold mine, and in time to the slow thumping beat of the music, he twirls me leisurely out, then in again before pressing me up against him. We sway in perfect time, shifting our weight from foot to foot in harmony with the music. Our hips connect and grind to the deliberate beat. There’s no jerking or flinging, just a natural feeling that we fit together flawlessly.

He leans in close. I can barely breathe with lust as I feel his hands holding me firmly. His body feels tight and muscular, and he is the perfect sort of tall with perfect shoulders to hang on to, and he behaves like the perfect gentleman. I am lost with desire for him. For a long while, we are oblivious to anyone else on the dance floor until at last the DJ signals a change in tempo and lifts the beat. It seems to break the spell.

‘I suppose I should get back to work,’ he says, sounding ruffled. The attraction between us is hugely strong. It’s almost abit out of control and unnerving, the way we seem to want each other.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I am gutted our magical moment has come to an end. Matteo leads me off the dance floor and then surprises me by leading me through a narrow doorway into a storeroom full of kitchen supplies and a window out to sea. He pulls me roughly to him, his eyes dark and intense. His hands take my waist as he presses me against the wall. I instinctively loop my arms round his neck and look up at him through my huge lashes. We are both panting as he lowers his mouth to mine. I hear him groan, a primeval sexual sound, the split second before our lips touch and an exquisite sensation floods my body. We explore each other’s mouths, our tongues moving feverishly through our lips while a surge of white-hot heat explodes within me from the connection. After an eternity of bliss, he pulls back a fraction and we stare goofily at each other. This definitely feels like the start of something.

When he finally slips away to continue working, I go to the toilets and check myself in the mirror for signs of lipstick over my chin or forehead or ears. I take a moment to stare at my reflection, no longer recognising the woman staring back. I like this new me. I like her a lot. Lustful Connie is fun and vibrant. I quickly reapply my lipstick, smooth my hair back into shape and race away from the mirror before the feeling wears off.

As I reach the VIP lounge, I hear someone yell, ‘Stanky Legg!’ at the top of their lungs, and instantly freeze. Sure enough, Tash and the girls are gyrating each leg in a circular motion on the dance floor before they swivel, bend over and begin to elaborately dry-hump each other. Everyone around them stops to stare. The tone has been considerably lowered.

Oh dear Lord.

The Dollz spot me mid-hump, and wave. I wave back from behind the safety of the VIP rope. They’ve obviously forgottenall about ditching me before the gig and didn’t even have the decency to come and see me do my pitch-perfect warm-up set. And they are incredibly late.

‘Connie. BAAAY-AAAY-AAABES, get us seven free bottles of Cristal!’ Tash yells over to me.

Not a chance.

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